Earth Mother
by Meelu the Bold
Summary: Half a decade after the fact, Jak receives a message from someone very special. But even if he's just racing to her grave, even if she's dead, Jak needs to know who his mother is. [Rollo and Roxie.]
1. 101

"**Earth Mother"**

**By M.T. Bold**

**Disclaimer: Miss Bold actually does not own anything Jak related except her own copies of the game. This is just a sick version of "dollhouse." These are all her own theories and since she sees the world in cutscenes the amount dialogue is tremendous. Thank you.**

Shoes.

Shoes, after three or four years of consecutive use, did not wear well on him. The majority of his life had been spent barefoot. He never had any use for shoes. What was there to protect him from that the tough skin on the soles of his feet wouldn't defend against naturally? Maybe a thorny bramble or two, or a sharp rock—but on several occasions he hadn't even realized that he had stepped on anything until someone commented on the blood staining the floor.

What they were good for, though, was staring at. There was an amazing amount of detail on his footwear. He supposed he looked bored and vacant, staring at his shoes, but he felt that way. This was no world for barefooted people, not any more. A green, fluffy head leaned on his right, unarmored shoulder. Keira must be as bored as he was. She sat next to him on the very angular violet couch in the former Duchess' waiting room. The place looked rich to him. It was probably the chandelier lighting and the classical Precurian art. Jak was here because the old lady claimed to be a relation of some sort and he was desperate for details that Ashelin's computer files and datapads couldn't provide. Keira was here because he needed moral support, and Daxter was house-hunting with Tess. Apparently, Precursors were born in litters.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked idly. Their relationship had reached the point where they talked simply to hear each other talk. Against the snowless cold of Kras City in the winter, she had a really nice magenta overcoat now, bought with the money she'd won in the only Freeze Rally that Jak couldn't figure out how to master. He was fine with Silver if Keira was the one with the Gold.

"Shoes," he replied blandly. Jak didn't want to have to think of anything more interesting to think about, so he just told the truth.

"Hee," Keira smiled, sitting up and stretching. "We never had to wear shoes in Sandover. Remember that time you stepped on that stonecrab and bled all over my garage floor?"

"I swear I didn't feel anything," Jak argued half-heartedly. He stayed in the slumped, limp position on the increasingly uncomfortable couch that was becoming more and more common with the new hours he was keeping.

A smiling young woman with bubble gum pink hair and a walk that didn't require her to lift her high-heeled feet approached them. The spikes of her heels clicked against the synthesized marble floor. Jak wasn't sure how it happened, since he never saw any distance between the stilettos and the tile, but the sound was convincing enough.

"Lady Nirina's ready to see you," she said, spirited and enthusiastic. Her hair formed a large dome on her head, like a pink street lamp. She was shaped like a street lamp, too. Perhaps one day she aspired to be one. "My name's Palo. You must be—" she lowered her voice here "—the young Prince Mar? And friend?"

"Just call me Jak," he said simply. Mar was a bad name to have for someone who was allegedly born eight years ago.

"Oh, good. Right this way, Mr. Jak, sorry for the wait," she said, spinning, literally, on her heel. Her balance was remarkable. "Don't worry, everything's been explained by Governor Ashelin and I have clearance."

"Um, right," Jak said lamely. Keira recognized the sudden loss of nerve and took his hand, discreetly.

Palo led them down a hall, clicking her heels as she went. She seemed to be wearing a common uniform with the rest of the staff, but hers was more business-like—a lavender jacket and skirt with a white, purple-striped tie. Her pink lipstick made her hair look dull. There was something about Kras City that made people dress in ridiculously stylish clothing. The whole place was too flashy. Jak supposed that its relatively impervious location—on a strand of islands—made it difficult for the Metalheads to wage war, especially since the species was finally decreasing. However, Governor Ashelin repeatedly stated that she did not envy Governor Malcor's city-state in the slightest. At least her war-torn Haven City wasn't run by gangsters.

"Your Ladyship," Palo announced chipperly. She had a noteboard, the sort of computer you used a stylus to take notes on. Ashelin had one.

"Oh!" a voice gasped from behind the squarish metal desk. It was painted to look like wood. "How wonderful. Come here, come here!"

Lady Nirina sounded as little-old-ladyish as she was. The Lady's hair, grey and white, was coaxed into braids around her head in two loops. Crazy hair, Jak had learned, was a trademark in Kras for wealthy and powerful women. There were quite a few, some of them the very famous Kras courtesans, as well as affluent ex-nobles. She wore a deceptively simple business suit and was . . . not fat, not like Krew, but definitely a cheery sort of rotund. She stood up and tiptoed to a section of the room cordoned off by a gold curtain. Nirina swept it aside and revealed a view of the renowned Kras Ports at sunset.

The water around Kras was blue—actually blue, not murky or eco-charged like Haven's. It reminded Jak of Sandover and brighter times. In the distance, he could see remnants of the underwater Precursor temples, their spires jutting as high as sailboat masts. A collection of both wheeled cars and zoomers crowded the tri-level streets.

"Whoa," Jak murmured appreciatively. Nirina smiled proudly.

"It is lovely, isn't it? Haven looked like this, at its height . . . ah, yes. Palo, tea and the documents, please. They belong to Mar, now," Nirina called to her secretary. In the center of the windowed area was a low coffee table and purple couches, and she scooted herself into one. Nirina gestured across from her, presumably for Jak and Keira to sit there. "Well, the documents are yours. The tea set is most assuredly mine, but if you want—"

"I don't like tea," Jak said, trying to make her stop. Keira discreetly elbowed him. "I don't need anything to drink, thanks."

"You liked peppermint, as I recall," Nirina said sadly, suddenly. "Gaea's favorite too."

"My mother?"

Ashelin had mentioned her name once or twice. Jak took a seat, with Keira beside him, just close enough for her to touch his hand. It was a warning—it told him if she was scared or angry and made him feel protective. Nirina picked at the fibers of her suit, looking mildly hesitant under her big smile. Palo set a platter on the coffee table, laden with the pot and cups and two small data chips. The solemnity of the moment was discarded immediately as all eyes were pulled up to gaze at that gaudy pink hair. Palo seemed to know her business and left as soon as Nirina nodded a dismissal.

"There's so much to tell you," Nirina lamented. "I don't know where to start. Why don't you introduce me to your lady friend, though, first?"

"This is my girlfriend, Keira," Jak said promptly. He was used to introducing her that way, now, but the novelty had not quite worn off.

"Pleasure to meet you," Keira smiled and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. She floundered for something else to say. "Your place is great."

"Thank you, dear," Nirina preened. She chuckled and then became more serious. "Damas would be so happy for you, I'm sure. How much do you know about the deposition, if I may ask?"

They were treading on unhappy ground. It wasn't like he hadn't tried to find out—it was his search that led him here, after all. Ashelin could only tell him so much. At the time of his birth, she had not been privy to high-level information. "Not much," Jak admitted. "Most of the files were erased by Veger and Praxis."

"And the doctor, I imagine," Nirina sighed. Jak and Keira shared a confused and curious glance. Nirina's eyebrows rose. "You don't know about the doctor? Dr. Kronus? Why . . . Mar, he's the one who designed the Dark Warrior program."

"There was another?" Jak asked. Keira reached for his hand, like soothing a dog with its hackles rising.

"You don't think those two were _clever_ enough to come up with such an abominable act, do you? That they had the genius? Veger dabbled and Praxis had the money, but the brilliance? The _evil_?" Nirina looked at them with her wide blue eyes as though they had suggested that Lurker Sharks made good house pets. "That was Dr. Kronus's doing, Mar. Kronus and Gaea were the only ones who could have done it. Gaea was too compassionate, too _human_, but Kronus?"

Nirina shook her head softly. She reached for the blue chip. "All photographic evidence of your mother was immediately destroyed, wherever Damas found it. At that point, there were many dissenters and Gaea was too suspicious. But people _do_ things for love, you see. Tea?"

Jak tried to say no again, but Nirina shook her head. "For Miss Keira."

"I would love some, thanks," Keira said graciously. She let Nirina pour her a cup. The old woman's hand was adorned with a ring in the shape of Mar's insignia.

"Both you and your mother were a secret of the state, you see," Nirina continued. "At the time, the dissenters were tearing your father's policies apart, particularly those concerning the Metalheads. Praxis was our staunchest ally . . . until he betrayed us. Damas was formally exiled. You must have been too young to remember the attack on the palace. But somehow . . . I don't know how, but you disappeared then, with your mother. We assumed you had both run to the Precursor Temple . . . but of course that's not true . . ."

"Temple?" Jak asked, alarmed.

Nirina gasped, and then laughed out loud. "Where are my manners!" she exclaimed. Nirina pushed back her sleeve and revealed a comm. "Palo, let her in now."

Keira raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I met a wonderful young woman at a party two weeks past," Nirina said jovially. "And had a most enlightening conversation with her about Precurian artifacts. Apparently, she's found something that belongs to your mother."

"Who?" Jak had time to ask, before Palo led the new guest into the room.

Before Jak could get properly pissed off, Rayn, in a stunning new green dress, trilled the fingers of her gloved hand cheerfully. She descended the stairs into Nirina's window cove as though she'd done it thousands of times before. Her expression was horribly smug.

"Hello, Jak! Pleasant seeing you again, isn't it?"

"What are you doing here?" Jak demanded. Rayn laughed and removed her gloves.

"Her Ladyship invited me," Rayn said succinctly, tossing her gloves to him. He dropped them promptly. "You look well, Keira."

Keira glared at her.

Rayn took a seat on the couch next to Nirina and crossed her legs, showing off a very classy heeled boot. "Ah, looks like there's a spare cup. I hope you don't mind me, your Ladyship."

"What are you doing here?" Jak repeated himself, clearly unhappy. Bad things happened when Jak was unhappy. "Why'd you bring _her_ here?"

"It's true, I invited her. After all," Nirina said, sipping her tea. Her smile revealed nothing. "It was her archaeologists that found this."

Nirina picked up the blue chip and tossed it to Jak. He caught it, easily, and sat down again.

"You should be grateful, Mar," Rayn said enigmatically. The steam from the hot tea coiled as it rose, framing her face. Through the window, Jak could see an air train rushing past.

"How do you know about that?" Jak said. Keira pulled him back down to a sitting position, before his temper got the best of him.

"In addition to being a crime boss and de facto queen of Kras," Rayn said with a smile. "I'm an information broker. Don't worry, Jak, I've been buying all this, not selling. I have dear memories of you, except for that nasty business concerning my father. Everything I've collected is on that chip—no copies. On my honor."

For Keira's sake, Jak held his tongue and waited for Nirina to explain herself more fully. Rayn's honor was worthless. Jak didn't enjoy being conned and this was situation bad—his answer to most major emotional conflicts was a Morph Gun. In the meantime, he counted the leaves on the tall, fronded plant behind the pair. The monstrous plant loomed tall, like a giant watch-plant. He'd seen that sort of plant come alive before.

"There are always . . . people, you see, people who know things," Nirina explained. "When I lived in Haven, I was one of the few people your mother came into contact daily with. We lived outside the Palace, in a small complex. Of course, most of the higher ups knew—Praxis, Kynde, Dialente, Veger, Coggins, Nialty, Reives, Kronus . . . most of those people are dead now. And, of course—"

"Aleczander Krew, my father," Rayn filled in. "We were nobility, once. Ah, well. What I have now is the same—without those pesky laws to abide."

"Rayn, dear," Nirina said nervously. It was clear she was not as comfortable with lawlessness as the beautiful ringleader. Jak wished he hadn't left his Gun at the door. It would have been nice to go home with a gift for the good governor.

"Ah yes! Back to business. What I do know now is that three months ago, I was contacted by a free-lance archaeology company on a particularly interesting site. I funded them and lo and behold, they found that lovely little chip you have now. Forgive me, but I had to listen to it to find out that it was for you," Rayn said amiably. She didn't look the least bit remorseful. In fact, she looked downright devious. "I found Lady Nirina and through her arranged this meeting . . . alas, you wouldn't have come alone if it I had asked."

"Gaea is waiting to be rescued! The message is very clear, if a little old," Nirina said excitedly.

"How old?" Jak asked. His callousness was getting the better of him and he amended to leave it out next time. Nirina wilted and looked scared.

"Five years," she confessed. Jak muttered something under his breath and looked away sharply. Bad odds for a rescue.

"How can we trust you?" Keira challenged. She sounded every bit as hurt as Jak felt. They actually had thought Rayn was a better person than her father. Rayn shrugged, tucking a lock of lavender hair behind her long ear. Her new earrings were gold.

"You can't. All you can do is listen to it and see for yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me. Rollo is waiting in the car and he gets antsy with the guns if I take too long," Rayn finished her tea and placed the cup on the tray. She stood and gracefully walked out of the room, bending over to retrieve her gloves. "Laters."

"Oh, Rollo is with you?" Nirina said, pleasantly surprised. She chirped her farewell to Rayn's receding back. "Do say hello to him for me, will you? He's such a sweet boy."

Jak felt Keira's hand on his fist and relaxed. He hadn't even realized that he was tensed. The door slid open and shut, whistling as it did. Nirina, as she turned to them, looked truly apologetic, her braids quivering. For no reason, Jak wondered her relation to him—she had said she was a second cousin on his father's side, right? Or was that through marriage? Or had he forgotten that she was an old friend of the family . . .?

"Let's go back to the hotel, alright, Jak?"

Stoically he nodded a reply. They waited a moment in uneasy silence, so as not to catch Rayn going down the elevator.

**..0..**


	2. 102

"Jak, you're alright, right?"

The tone of her voice implied that she didn't actually think he was alright, but was too worried—too _scared_—to say so. Keira's brand of concern was far less acerbic than anyone else's, including Daxter's (especially Daxter's, come to think of it.) It was nice to hear something gentle, more or less, since Keira _had_ been known to throw wrenches around when she was angry, and she could get pretty damn angry . . . but Wrench Throwing Keira wasn't asking.

Jak couldn't think of anything true to say and he didn't feel like lying too much tonight. Silently, Jak put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, trying hard not to think about anything at all. He didn't look up until he felt Keira's weight on the edge of the bed and her hand on his back, rubbing a small circle with her palm.

"You don't have to go through this by yourself, you know," she said. "You have Dax and me and Sig and Ashelin . . . we're here for you. You saved the world. At least three times. I think we're a little indebted to you, huh?"

Jak glanced up at her and tried to smile at her little nudge towards humor. She was trying, dammit, which was more than what he was doing, sitting around and moping like a sick crocodog. In case her words weren't helping, Jak supposed, Keira curled up into his side and wrapped her arms around him. He held on to her. It was an anchor sort of pose. Despite the proximity and the position, it was also very chaste. Samos would have cabbits if he were to try anything on her, having even gone so far as to book separate rooms. (Jak couldn't so much as order pizza, not after the first disaster.)

But remnants of his Sandover upbringing still lingered and he agreed, sort of. Keira seemed indifferent to that particular aspect, for the most part, and when he was going about his daily life, he didn't care. It was the little part in the back of his mind that said _but it might help_ that frustrated him.

Keira leaned further and pressed her lip softly on his cheek, twice, to make sure of something. He didn't know what. When she was sure, she broke away and stood up, making a beeline for the hotel com. She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling like he should smile too. "Do you want to eat? We don't have to go anywhere, I can just call roomservice."

She was doing him a favor by asking questions he could answer without thought. "Sure," he said, thinking about the two discs. Jak liked not being hungry. Hunger decreased response time and made you unready for things. He was going to have to face them and the message and whatever it meant and it would be nice to be ready for it.

It would be nice indeed. He tuned out as Keira talked to the person on the other end—audio only. She knew what he liked, since it hadn't changed over the years and he tuned out. The chips, those two little discs were basically what he had been looking for, right? Nice, cold-cut information on the royal family. Stuff he couldn't find in the deleted or lost files of Haven City, that not even Vin seemed to be able to track. But it was from _Rayn_ and he trusted her as far as he could throw her father.

"Twenty minutes," Keira said to him, leaning up against the comstand.

"Huh?"

"It'll take twenty minutes to come up," Keira repeated.

"Oh."

"Jak?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to . . . well, I saw the chip, um, the one with your . . . the message on it and it's really old. Five, six years isn't enough to be outdated completely, but that isn't from the market from five years ago. It's specialized. Military. I don't think any old place would have the equipment now to run the whole thing," Keira said. He was surprised that she could tell from just looking, but Keira'd always been good with this sort of thing. The disc just looked funny to him. It was difficult for Jak to read her expression, but he could ferret out her meaning.

_You don't have to think about this now_. You can put it off and occupy your time with this necessary function. Thank the furry little screwball Precursors for Keira; she always had something for him to do.

"Where do you think . . . ?" he asked, shifting his weight on the bed.

"Maybe Vin would have something," Keira said thoughtfully. "But if not, Ashelin probably knows where there'd be discarded equipment and there's always an old chip-player floating in junk yards. The other one is newer, though."

Jak was silent. He focused on a point three feet from Keira's shoes.

"I have my portable with me," Keira said, half-quietly. That was right. Keira liked dramas and mechanic shows. She had the entire four-season set of _Haven City Chopper_. And the flight to Kras City was long and boring.

Jak looked for a moment like he might crumple his head into his hands again and flounder in his fears and indecision. He did not. That was not like him. Jak's expression turned stony, like he was preparing to take the brunt of—of—a shock wave or a Metalhead claw. This, this indecisiveness, was _not_ him.

"Bring it to me."

Keira disappeared for a moment, out of the room and across the hall. She returned with her portable player, a flat pink rectangle with a blue screen and five major buttons at the bottom. Jak gave her the newer chip and she sat down close to him as she inserted the disc.

A hologram popped up immediately and blinded them as a woman's voice played on the recording. Keira tossed the player gently on the ground and a full-scale projection of Rayn began to pace as she talked.

"—ak, I know that I . . . ah, well, I betrayed you," Rayn's hologram said. Keira leaned down and rewound the recording. "Please forgive me, Jak. I know that I . . . ah, well, I betrayed you and your friends. Believe me, I did think of you as friends while the season was on."

"Yeah, right," Jak muttered. He reached to turn it off, but Keira stayed his hand and looked at him meaningfully. _Let's hear what she has to say._

"I don't expect that you'll forgive me so easily," Rayn's image continued. "I deeply thank you for not shutting this off, if you've gotten this far. Jak, I want to make it up to you and everyone else—but you especially. I know that Keira won't be so glad to hear this, but I always liked you, Jak."

Jak glanced at Keira, who was in fact scowling. She made no move to shut off the player, though, and he continued to listen. Grudgingly.

"I like to think I can emphasize with you. I . . . I decided to help you. One of my spies has reported that you are looking for information on the elusive Queen Gaea of Haven City," Rayn's face looked truthful, sad, repentant. Jak wasn't fooled. He knew exactly how good an actress she could be. "My search yielded fruit. It took me a lot of time and quite a bit of money, but it was worth it. There's an old temple in the northern wastelands that a dig team discovered and excavated. During the deposition, the Queen apparently took refuge there. The archaeologists can't get past the interior doors; there's a sort of eco-lock placed on it. But according to your mother, there is a way."

A familiar touch of excitement peppered her voice. Jak frowned even harder. He didn't know if that was good or bad.

"But only you can do it, Jak. If you accept, send a letter to the address under the file, 'Triger and Luna' that reads 'yes.' They'll contact you. If not . . . I'll be sorely disappointed if your answer is no, or nothing at all, but such is life. And business," Rayn sighed in her recording, her shoulders sagging visibly. Her enthusiasm had not altogether faded, however. She looked up, as it to some distant light. "This isn't business, Jak. I am truly, sincerely trying to atone for myself. I hope that one day, we'll be able to trust one another. With any luck, we'll see each other in person, soon. I await your decision."

Rayn's image clicked off, and the screen began to display a stream of letters and options. Jak leaned to pick up the player and read the first column. It was a list of tabloid articles. To the side, a diary of Count Nialty. Newsvids predating the deposition. There was an option to play Rayn's message again. Jak selected it and set down the player. He and Keira watched it two more times before room service delivered and then they went through the rest of the information as they ate. There was too much to go through all in one night, but Jak wouldn't stop.

Keira nodded off around midnight, and Jak took a break to carry her gently to her room and situate her accordingly. She had been pretty good about this whole thing, Jak thought as he kissed her. He took the player with him, where he spent the rest of the night going through the tabloid vids and reports. The last one was the only one with a photoimage.

It was four in the morning and Jak's eyes were beginning to weaken, but he narrowed all of his remaining focus onto the indistinct figure in the image. It was the distant silhouette of a woman carrying something, on a high, cordoned off deck somewhere in old Haven City. The picture was fuzzy, it was in poor light, but Jak could see that she had long hair and a willowy form. Her head was bent as thought she were intent gazing at the thing in her arms.

Jak awoke hours later, at noon. Keira had prevented anyone from disturbing him, even though they'd missed their return flight. Oh well, Keira said. It's not like you don't have clout or cash enough in Kras City to get much coveted seats on another one, Mr. Retired Racing Champ.

**..0..**

She got the call fifteen minutes after their departure, her associates—her more covert associates—instructed to keep an eye on Jak and his little greaseball girlfriend. She sighed and tugged at a curl of her hair. Usually, it was elaborately done up in some fashionable manner. Rayn had trained from a young age to wear her hair in the High Krasian style, ostentatiously curled, wrought or braided and pulled over the wooden dome of her hairpiece. Instead of a pillow, she slept on a block that supported her neck and back masterfully, every day except Saturday. On Sunday, she had a new hairstyle arranged.

It showed class. It showed money. The more glamorous and ornate, the better it was. If you had the time to torture yourself into elegance, you were very, very rich and very, very affluent.

And she was. Rayn didn't waste a word on the associate. She sent a buzz to affirm that she had received his call and shut the little portable com off and tossed it on her beautifully carved desk. Rayn kicked up her sore feet on the real wood. Ah, killer heels. Another mark of the fabulously wealthy. She had the money to pamper her feet but rarely the time. All of _that_ time was spent twisting Mizo's old lackeys' arms into obeying her instead.

If only she was a man. Father was hardly intimidating on his own, although he had been a Krimzon Guard captain many a year ago, and yet the mobs of Haven City had willingly bent their knee to him. Not so much to her. She was a woman, the simple truth of it was. Despite how much Ashelin despised her, Rayn felt a certain kinship to the governor. Women had to show power, they had to dress, act, and breathe the roles. In Ashelin's case, it was tough talk and tougher action. In hers—simple, serpentine beauty.

Today was Saturday. It was eight at night. There was nothing beautiful about her right now, her curiously colored hair in loose disarray. It fanned everywhere and pooled on her silk bathrobe. Rayn hadn't cut it since she was ten She'd skipped last Saturday's "business recovery" and she was making up for it with lazy decadence plus a box of chocolate. Crime was tough work, even though it was hardly crime anymore. Mizo, as it turned out, owned maybe half the police force through a bribery and blackmail combo.

Sometimes Rayn had an escort brought in and allowed herself to be entertained in that way. She had two or three favorites that came in from her particular agency, plus free reign to select one of the new ones before anyone else, but she was in the mood for blonds and there were no good ones to be had. Ah, well. They couldn't all be Jaks.

Or princes. _Lost_ princes. Years too old to be those lost princes. She flipped through the copy of the files she'd collected on a player in its stand; haha, so she'd lied a bit to Jak. It wasn't like she was sharing this information. Rayn considered it his fault anyway. He'd piqued her interest. Not many men did that, so she looked into him. As it turned out, there was information by the teaspoons. She had acquired everything she knew in small mouthfuls and some of it went down badly.

There was no birth certificate for anyone by his name, no real one, at least. Ashelin had had a phony one backdated for him and that rat. There was something called Dark Warrior that he'd been involved in; most of that had been inaccessible until she'd found her witnesses, one of the scientists who had a hand in the construction and a monk that had performed spiritual necessities for the defunct Krimzon Guard. And then the time machine—ha!—had been a mystery until she'd found one of the little greaseball's old coworkers, a mechanic that now worked in Kras, fixing the racing cars up off season and then an expert in Precurian technology to match the description against.

It'd been hellish to puzzle together. Jak certainly led an interesting life.

Rayn popped a chocolate into her mouth and silently cursed as it turned out to be caramel. She hated caramel. The next was nougat and that was acceptable. Idly, she surveyed her dimly lit office. The windows were tinted to opacity. She could see out, but no one could see in. All of her furniture was real wood and feather stuffing and satin and velvet. She liked real things. It showed money and taste. Boors had to be shown sophistication at every angle or else they didn't get that she was better than them. Everything was draped in cool olive greens and mosses and golds, her favorite colors. Why not? Mizo's old office had been ugly and garish.

The com shivered on the desk, clattering noisily as it vibrated. Saturday she let her hair down. Only. It wasn't like crime stopped because it was Saturday.

Rayn picked up the com and clicked it to talk.

"What is it?" she asked, swiveling her desk chair idly.

"It's me," the voice on the other side said, hazardously sharp. He sounded like he was driving, from the engine noise in the background. "I'm at the airtrain."

Rayn rolled her eyes. "You can't be waiting for instructions. Follow them to Haven." She had to listen very carefully to understand him over the com. There were subcultures of Kras City that spoke almost entirely different languages, resulting in the myriad of accents that she encountered daily as people tried to speak one collective language.

Almost to prove her point, he mumbled something in that bizarre South Loading Docks lingo to a passenger; a high, sleepy, indiscernible voice responded. Rayn smiled. He had brought himself a living, breathing white flag, as ordered. What a good soldier.

"Alright," he said. He sounded agitated. He probably was, since he hated working for her. Like many people, he had to be blackmailed to take orders from his old boss's deposer.

He should take it as a compliment, Rayn thought to herself often. She didn't bother blackmailing worthless upstart peons. She had them shot.

"I only want you to report," she told him firmly and clearly, playing with a long strand of blue lilac colored hair. "Do not engage them unless it is unavoidable. Any of them."

A thought struck her as she popped in another chocolate and spoke around the bulk. If she kept this up, she'd be a match for dear old daddy. "By the way, how's the kid, Rollo?"

"She's fine," her grudging associate snapped. His accent only got worse when he was angry. "Don't you dare call me that."

"Very well," Rayn conceded. It would do her no good to prod him too much. She softened her voice and allowed herself to sound a little more like a woman and less like an androgynous shadow. "I'll restrain myself. Good luck, Razer."

He was muttering to himself still when she clicked off the com, but she could tell that her concession had taken an effect. Rayn leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Father had told her never to lose her head over a man. Well, fuck that, father.

There wasn't enough left of father to roll in his grave, anyway.


	3. 103

The governor was in a good mood. You could tell because everyone was breathing easy. The guards chatted as they dutifully swapped places at the end of a long and boring (and boring here meant that nothing was shot, attacked, besieged or sabotaged) watch. Jak almost felt bad as the elevator ascended to Ashelin's second-to-the-top floor. This was definitely going to ruin her pleasant humor.

She was leaning on the circular multi-function structure in the center of the room, talking into the com there. Ashelin had a chair, but even when she was alone and dictating her commands into an audio-only com, she had to stand. She was a tall woman, and her height was her primary means of intimidation. Jak was immune to it (he was the shorter to a lot of people, but he'd be damned if he let them think it was an advantage) but it didn't stop her. The council room was empty except for her and a maintenance bot when Jak and Keira entered from the direct elevator.

"Hey," Jak said coolly. He smiled when Ashelin turned to look at them both and she smirked—God forbid that Governor Ashelin to grin like an idiot—back at him.

The flight from Kras (and the better half of the first season of _Wishful Thinking_) had restored him somewhat. _Thinking_ was Keira's "favorite show ever," topping out even _Haven City Chopper_, on which she'd made appearances as the show's go-to girl when it came to Precurian tech. _Thinking_ was kitschy and melodramatic, and although Jak had yet to miss an episode, the most Keira could goad out of him was "yeah, it's alright. I'll watch it if you really want to."

"Hey, how was it?" Ashelin said back. She shut off the com and leaned on the multi-function table. "Any luck?"

"Yeah, Lady Nirina was a real goldmine. But that's not the best part," Jak rolled his eyes, but he didn't manage to keep some of the gruffness out of his voice. Ashelin raised an eyebrow. Jak pulled the oddly shaped disc from a pocket in his jacket and tossed it to the governor.

Ashelin held it before her eyes in shock. "This is an eighth-rank special classification chip, Jak. For use by the royal family only. Where—"

"Rayn gave it to us," Jak cut her off. Ashelin scowled.

"Yeah, it was a real treat to see her again," Keira said sarcastically.

"She says it's from . . . the Queen," Jak continued.

Keira crossed her arms and went to stand in front of Ashelin, putting her weight on one foot. It was a bad habit of hers—bad for combat or dangerous scenarios, at least. Jak followed more slowly, waiting for Keira to speak. Ashelin and Keira had somewhat of a sour history, but that had blown over in recent times. He hoped.

"The thing can't be read by normal players, or even the special ones here, right? They only go up to seventh rank," Keira asked. It wasn't really a question.

"No," Ashelin shook her head. "This was for emergencies, only. In case a member of the royal family or the aristocracy was ever in some kind of trouble or for top secret information. I had one as a little girl. It was in case I was kidnapped."

"Really?" Jak asked. He sounded overly hopeful and Ashelin glared at him.

"I gave it to you," Ashelin said sharply. "When you were exiled. I set it to a beacon."

Jak remembered the strange object that she'd pressed into his hand before the aircab had flown off. Oh. That must have been the player. "I don't know where it is," he confessed. "Dam—my father took it after he rescued me."

Ashelin looked perturbed but Keira hmmed. "Can I see it?" she said. Ashelin handed the chip to her, and Keira held it close to her discerning eye. She pressed her lips together and looked very cute, in Jak's opinion. He didn't bother to voice that thought. She spent a lot of time—generally in the bathroom—scrubbing away at herself, trying to look 'nice.' Keira lived on the abyss between femme and tomboy, wavering between the two as the occasion demanded. Jak secretly preferred the one covered in grease and eco oil.

"It looks like . . . alright, so it looks like a crystal-coded eco refractor with locked layers and a non-random four-spectrum encryption. Maybe more, so don't quote me on that yet."

Keira looked up to receive twin stares of incomprehension. Ashelin coughed. Jak tried to puzzle together what she had said and failed. He chalked it up to Keira's innate charm—her knack for figuring out Precursor crap was always hot.

Keira sighed. "Jak, Ashelin, I'm going to try and construct a player. I'll need clearance to comb the military junkyard. And some eco crystals."

Jak briefly wondered if politics would prevent Ashelin from getting the crystals for Keira. Eco crystals were under strict control and the mines were under some very stringent laws, but Ashelin tapped a key on the MF table and turned to face a screen.

"Predilection?" she asked. Dark eco crystals were considered officially to be "crystals with a predilection for channeling dark eco" since technically eco crystals could be manipulated into channeling any eco type. Jak kept his mouth shut about any political blockades in Keira's shopping list. Ashelin was being very kind.

"Green," Keira said. "It's least likely to explode if I do something wrong."

"Comforting," Ashelin muttered as she typed.

"Thank you, Ashelin," Jak interrupted. Maybe the bad blood between the two women wasn't completely let out yet. "We don't know if we can trust Rayn yet, but this is something I want to see for myself."

Ashelin nodded. Keira looked thoughtful and pensively stared at the chip. Jak felt useless. He pulled out his com and checked the time quickly.

"Uh, I have to get going," he said, slipping the com back into the pocket that it now lived in. Once upon a time, it had its own slot in the holsters that he wore into combat. Not so much anymore. "Keira, are you going to need a ride to the garage or—"

"I'll give you a buzz when the eco comes in," Ashelin said without looking at him. She reached to a pile of discs and inserted into a slot on the MF, tapped a few more keys and ejected it. She passed the disc to Keira. "That'll get you into the junkyard."

"Thanks." Keira pocketed the disc and looked to Jak. "I'll need a ride . . ."

"Sure thing," Jak said, unsure of everything else.

**..0..**

Keira half-wished Jak would come with her into the junk, so she could keep an eye on him. The other half wanted to be completely alone as she concentrated. No questions to answer, nothing to explain or ask for. She had a shipment of green eco crystals with her name on it, for crying out loud, and a free pass into the military junkyard! And alone, she could concentrate on the eighth level player_ and_ scrounge some parts for her other projects.

But Jak . . . Keira had a pretty good idea of what he was going through. If she had the opportunity to meet her birth parents, to ask them why they abandoned her in Sandover, if they had really loved her or had just cast her overboard without a second thought . . . well, she'd be confused too. Unlike Jak, though, she had Daddy to fall back on. As far as Keira was concerned, her past started at age three when she washed up on the beach in a tiny boat basket next to Daddy's eco wells. Jak had past issues. Lots of them.

His poor emotional track record wasn't doing him any favors, either. The "dark beast" had more or less disappeared from his repertoire of angry reactions (including such classics as "beat 'em up," "shoot 'em up," and "look menacing"), but sometimes he just got . . . well, strange. She didn't know how to term it. Keira kicked over a junker of a hyperscan and reached behind it for the old Precursor relic sitting pretty in the grease. These things had a great shelf life and usually parts could be salvaged even if it was smashed up.

After working for years with Jak, she knew all about smashed up Precursor tech. The fact that the Precursors were orange ottsels like actually made sense to her: only something as small and nimble fingered as them could have done all this delicate work. Keira had tiny girly fingers but even she had to use tweezers to work with it.

Speaking of which, the eighth level player was actually pretty tiny according to the piecemeal blueprints she had in her head for it. Completed, it would look like nothing more than a piece of Precursor junk with a crystal imbedded in the top; but she didn't think they had the time for a real Precursor casing, so she'd hook up the wiring on a rig and just have it play. It didn't need to be portable or pretty.

Although, this washed up Precurian alarm beacon had the perfect corners for it. She could just water-jet cut right through the metal and encase the little player, just like it would be all professionally done . . . oh, and this gyro-gear was still perfectly balanced . . . and these boosters could definitely be salvaged and put to use on a civilian vehicle.

Unlike most people, Keira loved the military police. They had such great trash.

**..0..**

Driving calmed the nerves. Talking to Daxter opened him up to a new perspective. Logically, a long conversation over a long drive with Daxter sitting in the front seat of the zoomercar should help him clear his head and figure out what he wanted. He had the time—Keira said she wouldn't be done with the scrounging until eight or nine. So Jak picked up Dax from the bar to spend a little time arbitrarily driving nowhere, at their usual time. This was the time they took to talk about feelings of apprehension and all that manly stuff. Jak's (government provided/mandated) therapist insisted on it. However.

"Are you driving the speed limit?" Dax asked for the third time.

"Yes," Jak said.

"Are you _sure_? Because Tess doesn't want me going over the speed limit with the kids due any month now. Remember when you got pulled over? For doing ninety in the residential areas? And then you resisted arrest?"

"I did not resist arrest."

"You punched the guy in the face!"

Time of a change of tact. Jak took a wide turn into the bazaar to assure Dax that he was being careful.

"When is she due?"

"Hellooooo, implied uncertainty! We don't know this stuff, Jak, that's why we're nervous. I don't know how long us Precursors take to gestify! All I know is that any day now, I will have six little Daxters running around."

"Gestate."

"Whatever. I'm losing fur, Jak! I'm losing sleep! Look at me."

Jak looked. Daxter looked exactly the same—maybe a little more tired than usual. He sighed.

"Sorry, Dax," Jak murmured. He slowed down and let himself glance across the stalls. "I got a lot on my mind right now."

Daxter slumped in the zoomer seat, his eyeballs rolling up to his goggles. "Oh, right. Forgot about that."

They were quiet for a minute. Vaguely, Jak could hear the hawking and the zoomer rumbling and everything, but in his head, in the back of his head, he was listening to Rayn.

_This isn't business, Jak._

She sounded so honest. So . . . regretful. Was that just him?

He hadn't told Keira about it, but this whole situation . . . good God. Why did it have to be Rayn? Could this be a trap? Would she do that? Why? Revenge for killing her father? Or was it something else? Maybe there was something in the temple. Maybe something powerful. Bad people had crazy motives, that's what life had taught him. Rayn was definitely a bad person.

Jak's eyes rolled over a clothes stall. A young, dark haired girl was spinning, showing off something to her companion. Leaning against a pillar, smoking, stood . . . Jak changed levels and hit the brakes. No need to go into this guns blazing. Not that he had a gun on him.

"What is it, Jak?" Daxter asked. He cocked his head to the side, curious.

"Look," Jak said. He pointed.

Dax looked.

"Razer," Dax said, whistling. "What's he doing here? I thought he was dead."

"Doesn't look like it," Jak said darkly.

He watched as the girl grabbed another garment and popped off into the dressing stall, made out of curtains. The vendor followed her in. Razer loitered casually as she did so. Jak got out of the zoomer.

"You gonna go talk to him?" Daxter asked. His eyebrows were sky-high. Jak nodded. Daxter slunk into the seat. "Uh, I better stay here. I've got a wife and kids now. Can't go messing with gangsters now that I'm a family man."

"Right," Jak said in low voice.

Razer didn't really look too much like himself. Dressed in low-key colors, with his hair unslicked, black stubble across his face. Jak approached him almost at a march. His hand reached out like a vice. Razer didn't notice him until Jak's hand had made friends with his jacket collar. Jak held him against the pillar.

"Razer," Jak growled.

"Subtle," Razer commented. He sounded a bit annoyed. "Is this how you approach old enemies?"

"Don't mess with me. Who are you here for?"

Razer pried Jak's hand away. He made no move for a weapon, not even his namesake switchblade. He dusted off the material as if something nasty had just touched it. "No one. I'm doing the tourist thing with my daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Jak said. Alright, that made sense. Sort of. It was hard to imagine gangsters like Razer with things like children.

"Of course," Razer returned a little sharply. "Why do you think that I started racing to begin with?"

The cigarette that had been in Razer's hand had relocated to the ground, dropped in surprise. Razer reached into his jacket pocket to produce a pack and a lighter. He pulled out a second cigarette and lit it in one, continuous motion. He took a drag and then sighed. Jak found himself waiting for the explanation.

"When my little girl was born, I was seventeen. I needed fast money, so I won races. I retired when Mizo offered me more money to be his goon. She doesn't know," Razer said, casually summarizing his past in one breath. He shrugged. "Now Mizo is in pieces."

Jak followed his eyes—they weren't watching him, but the mocha brown boots showing under the dressing curtain. Razer had a strange sort of expression on his face. Jak couldn't read it clearly, but it looked . . . sad, sort of. Regretful. Jak supposed that it was the standard story for most Kras racers. He wondered how much was true. This was weird—Razer was acting like a completely different person.

"Believe it or not," Razer said thoughtfully, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He folded his arms against his chest. "I don't really have a grudge against you—not for beating me. You're young. I'm old. Reflexes dull after a while, it's just a fact of life. And furthermore, Mizo's little accident was the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know? I have a new job. Better hours. I get to spend a lot of time with Roxie now."

"Who's your new boss?" Jak said. The curtain of the stall pulled back. Razer's daughter stepped out, wearing a high collared dark blue dress with a yellow pattern of swirls. It was the style with the younger girls. Jak estimated the girl to be thirteen or fourteen.

"_Ei, papi, phensazs anese_?" she said brightly. Jak blinked. Whatever she was speaking, he didn't know it. Was that the language that produced Razer's accent? Weird. She saw Jak and smiled. Did she not recognize him as the man who nearly killed her father? "Oh, hey. You one of papi's friends?"

"Cute," Razer said with a smile. "Why don't you go buy that, Rox, and I'll introduce you after."

"Okay," Roxie nodded, her black curls bobbing energetically.

Razer pushed off of the pillar and cracked his neck. He looked at Jak with one raised eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious?" he said in a low voice, not quite a whisper. He sounded amused. "Rayn Krew. Everyone works for her, eventually."

He chuckled and clapped Jak on the shoulder. Jak narrowed his eyes and jerked back and away. Eco lightning seemed to crackle between them. Razer smiled tautly and began to amble towards the vendor's cashier stand, where his daughter was waiting for her card to be returned.

"By the way," Razer said in the same low voice. "Could you call me Rollo in front of Roxie? Thank you."

**..0..**

**Eh. Far too much exposition and set up, I know. I swear, platformer style action will start soon.**


End file.
